FateResurrection
by Oghori
Summary: Why did the Throne of Heroes exist in the first place? The Holy Grail came into the picture much later, after all. What is Fate that so mysteriously entwines itself with this Throne of Heroes? When a great threat emerges, the Throne is the last bastion of defense. The heroes whom fate played now carry the Fate of Life itself.
1. Volume 1: Prologue

**Volume 1: Prologue - The March**

The collective consciousness of Life trembled in fear. He has created a massive army, and now He comes. Marching through the stars, ploughing through planets. None was strong enough to oppose Him. None was strong enough to defy Him.

The True Gods have faded away. The Three that stands beyond all, represented by different civilizations with different names and pictures all across the universe have faded. They had moved to the Reverse Side of the World. Even the one Supreme Power, The Primordial One - A conscious power which created all the universes, an existence tied together with the swirl of the root itself - has faded, dissipating into the creation and its consciousness becoming dormant. All the powers that had the might to oppose him were silent. They had moved into dormancy long ago. The Sentinents that remained were nowhere near strong enough to oppose him.

He moved ruthlessly from civilization to civilization, violating Space and Time. A conqueror He was who conquered what He saw fit, and destroyed what He did not. And He saw most life unfit.

So He sank His claws and fangs into her - slowly, deliberately; excruciatingly.

Life cried out in despair. She cried out with all her might, and many a Sentinents heard her cry. They called out near and far, deep and high, to their children, but found that they had no voice. He had made them silent.

And yet, in an act of defiance, they held out their arms together, and managed to manifest and tether nine children in some time and space far flung. Somewhere from whence everything could be corrected. An old man gave them a hand, anticipating and calculating. A last gamble.

Life had ceased her defiant act by now. She could not speak out anymore. She could move, she could see. But grow? And speak out? No. She was slowly being cornered, her colours slowly fading.

He was coming. His children were coming. His army was marching.  
And a few with noble treasures beyond comprehension, with might that resounded throughout a throne within the root stirred from their sleep, unaware of the incoming danger. Unaware of the voice of the one who called them out for help.  
Even so, they stirred up from their slumber and stood.

* * *

 _ **A.N. - This is something that had been itching at my mind ever since Grand Order and Extella. The existence of the throne is to combat external threats. So what if I make something up in a grander scale? All these thoughts and the ever so slight irritation with the neo-legendary portrayal of the old Legends in the Nasuverse birthed this story.**_

 _ **Please do keep in mind that this is an alternate universe fic. I hope you enjoy the ride that my muse takes us through.**_

 _ **P.S. - I apologize for the format. I am writing from my cellphone. I currently don't have a single laptop or computer to my name. The only laptop that I had is due to be repaired. Once that comes in I will correct the format. Till then, please bear with me.**_


	2. Volume 1: Chapter 1

**Volume 1: Chapter 1 - Child of the Sun**

 _'The light here is different. This is...not the light of my father, Surya?'_

This was the first thought that popped into his head when he opened his eyes after a long, long time. How many centuries later? It was not certain.

His wild, white hair danced with the wind as his blue eyes darted around, looking for clues to what was happening. He drank the surrounding with his inhumanly sharp eyes. It was beautiful, but he had no time to dwell on it.

 _'Why am I here anyways? The only way for me to be anywhere really is to have answered a summon. But I don't remember responding to any?'_

He looked up to the sky, eyes narrowing as he thought of his current state of being. The light glinted off his armor and earring, which looked as though they have been fused to his skin rather than being worn by him. It was definitely something supernatural, evident by the two discs floating above his shoulders that held an unnatural cape in position. In the first place, calling that his armor was a stretch, since it seemed more to be a part of him than anything else. An exoskeleton of the gods - absolutely natural to him, and yet immensely unnatural. Like a turtle and its shell. As much a part of him as his bones, nail or hair. Combined with his wild hair, otherworldly beauty and calm demeanor, it made him look immensely dangerous, like an exotic blade of great beauty never before seen in human realms.

 _'I have everything with me. Dematerialised, but willing to come to me at the slightest pull. But...Vasavi and Vijaya together? On top of Kavacha & Kundala? How? And...Brahmastra has manifested as an arrow. The strength that courses within me is truly immense too. Who could be supporting me? It feels as if, even though incomplete, I have been given a life. A manifestation. Just like Vishnu had manifested as Narasingha.'_

He stared intently at his hands, as though he would wrest the answers out of his own existence if possible.

He belonged to the past. A spirit he was, who had lived his life to his satisfaction and had borne death with a smile. Just as a Kshatriya would. So why was he here, with a body so real that he could not dematerialise? With such immense strength that did not belong in this age?

The world was sorrowfully silent, as though it was apologizing to him for having roused him up from his slumber.

 _'And where am I anyways? This place is strange. Foreign. Is it not my world? The one shining high above is definitely not my father.'_

 _'I need to find out what is happening. I need answers.'_

Deciding that mere contemplation would be meaningless, he leapt down the cliff he had been standing at. The cliff collapsed as if a giant, red-hot hammer hit the cliff. The ice and snow together rushed down the mountain with a roar alongside the demigod down towards the clouds.

Far below the clouds, he could see the terrain clearly. He was one of the greatest archers of the world, after all. His eyesight could pierce most obstructions to behold that which he wished to. And he now saw the majestic mountains which encircled him, filled with an endless white shining with the splendour of the light. He could see the steam rising from the snow join the clouds to form a veil beautiful, the mountains like a demure lady draping herself in it, and the wind tugging at it to look at the beauty hidden beneath.

Far beyond the high peaks, he could see the tall alpine trees growing, clad in an assortment of vibrant colours. Tall they stood, wearing colours green, orange and violet. The rocks there were nearly blue, as though the dull greys had been painted by the water of the mountains to something far more beautiful, and the water in itself was crystal clear like glass. All through its intricate webbed journey through the terrain, even in its resting haunts, it was lined with undergrowth of colours more vibrant than anything offered by the trees themselves.

Far beyond even that lay settlements. Villages of people whom he knew not. But if he were to begin to do anything, it had to be there.

His mind made up, the cape of sun-fire that lay draped across his shoulders came to life from its dormant form resting lazily upon his back to flames so brilliant that the clouds emerging from the wall of ice racing alongside him simply vanished. The avalanche itself turned to water, disappearing beneath the ice and snow of the mountains. The cape then parted into two, like wings of an angel unfurled.

These wings pulsed and beat just once, and immediately he blasted forward at tremendous speeds towards the destination he set in his mind.

* * *

Isawé was having a hard time right from the onset of the day.

The night before had brought to the village a harsh snow-storm, and it was a miracle that the roof did not blow away. She had woken up early to find snow covering the ground at least three feet outside, and therefore needed to wait for the lightest layer of snow to thaw off.

She prepared tea for the morning and drank it, tearing off the cobwebs of sleep that clung to her relentlessly. She rubbed her third eye, trying to open it. It always took a little more time to open the eye upon her forehead.

Her third eye fluttered open and the world was changed in her vision. Colours and patterns invisible to her before came to life right in front of her.

She felt pity for herself at that moment. What a lowly being she was. A human being? A maggot among human beings! That was what she was!

Slogging day and night to please her masters, which she had to do if she wanted to survive in this harsh world. And her masters always complained that their masters were too harsh. That they lived a wretched life.

Wretched? What did they know about this word which they so casually flung around? She had to bring up food like a beast of burden every week, and that consumed three days for her - one day downhill, two days uphill. She had not a mule to her name, and yet her masters expected her to bring all of it uphill by herself? They even had the gall to claim that since she was not of much use, she would be paid little! And they thought they were wretched! She would gladly trade places with them.

Some days she just wished she could die.

Today was definitely one of those days.

She had just reached her home the evening before, after having had brought up all the goods and barely avoiding a storm. She had not even the time to go and get the necessities she had bought on a monthly basis, aside from some of the food. That night it snowed so much that now she had to wait, both for the snow to thaw and her benefactors to get the checking done so that she could get her pay. Adding to her misery was the fact that today was the fourth day of the month, and she had exhausted almost all her stock from the last month.

After her liquid breakfast, the snow outside had thawed quite a bit, so she went out with a shovel to clear the snow. She had no means to do it in any other way, for her ability to utilize mystery was nowhere near strong enough. She could see it, but not utilise it, no matter how hard she tried.

She toiled in her dainty little hut far away from other neighbors to get the path to the rest of the village cleared. No other person helped her, since she had isolated herself from others living with her husband. After he had died, a few had come to ask for her hand in marriage, but she refused them all. The problem here was that among the declined was a powerful man, a member of the village council. His pride snubbed, he openly declared his hatred towards her; none would then help her out. They were simple village folk afraid of going against the 'powerful lords'. Her benefactors were the only people who took pity on her. They were a part of a guild in the mainland, with relations to the market and trade. But business was business, and all they really offered was an employment - a means to keep on living, to survive.

Her exhaustive work took her well into the later part of the noon. When she retired to her hut, she found that her roof was leaking because of the of the night storm. How she failed to notice it in the morning itself was beyond her comprehension. She tiredly cooked up a meal for herself, had it in short notice, and sealed the leaking roof shut with bits of plastic she kept handy and lined the outer part with tin.

By the time she was done, the afternoon was so late that an hour later the world would turn ablaze with reddish hues of the setting sun - the blue skies would turn yellow, orange and deep crimson, the white snows would seem to be set afire, and the water would turn to molten flame of heaven.

She had missed her payment again today, and would have to wait another day. She wondered if such a wretched existence was even worth it? What difference would it make if she merely dropped dead at that moment?

Tired beyond imagination and bitterly lonely for nearly half a decade, she really missed her husband. He had been a strong man, loving and kind. No one could ever have asked for a better spouse. He alone in the village had been able to manipulate the Mystery to his will. He had loved her so much! A powerful man he used to be, whose backstabbing friends lusted for her after his death and tried to own her, rather than helping her out. It was only due to the her 'Masters' that they did not try anything. Her 'Masters' had been acquainted to her Husband before his death, and they were respectful men, even though they were businessmen at heart.

She wondered sometimes - did he miss her in his afterlife? Would she be reunited with him if she died?

All of these musings of her were cut short as a rumble sounded in the distance. An avalanche. But in this time of the year? She waited for a few moments, lost in thought. And then she began to move. She had a strange feeling that something was wrong. Everything had suddenly grown brighter too. She walked a few steps towards the distant mountains. The clouds were clearing slowly.

Suddenly the world grew a lot brighter at a frightening pace, making her pause in anxiousness. A thunderous noise resounded through the sky as the clouds abruptly vanished. She looked up to the suddenly clear skies to behold a miracle. It was like something out of a tale of the gods. Something she had only heard and dreamt about.

An otherworldly figure glowing like the Sun itself was floating down gently into the ground, melting the snows with his wings of unbearably brilliant flame. She had never felt so uncomfortably hot in her entire life before.

 _'An angel!'_

He stood upon the ground, his visage akin to the Gods she had heard of in countless tales. Ethereally beautiful, powerful beyond compare. He strode forward towards her, she shrunk back.  
Had she died? Did God's messenger come to take her? Was this all a dream?

Cutting right through her fear addled mind, the divine being slowed down and spoke in a warm and powerful velvety voice, as if the sun had granted itself a voice to speak.

"Do not be afraid. I mean you no harm."

A few moments of silence lapsed found her voice after that long moment of eternity, and it emerged hoarse, broken.

"Who...who are you?"

The radiant being smiled in a thin lipped manner that looked far deadlier than he intended it to be.

"I am the son of Surya."

His smile softened.

"I am Karna."

* * *

Karna was perplexed.

He knew that this woman was someone tormented by life. But he knew this too that she was a strong person. His discernment made it possible to see through anything, after all. Thus he also knew that she was afraid of him. It was inevitable that a normal being would be afraid of him, but he had been gentle in talking to her. He had reassured her and even smiled at her to put her at ease. So he did not know why had she been so shaken when she saw his reassuring smile.

That begged another question. Why was it that when he saw her he got his first bit of information from the world that she was a human being? What manner of human being had an eye on their forehead? The feeling of alienation that he had been feeling ever since he manifested grew stronger within him every passing minute.

"Can you tell me of my whereabouts, O troubled lady?"

The woman before him seemed to finally shake off her stupor and nodded. She would be compliant.

"You're at the Northernmost village of the Great Balïen Empire. Of the Fillé ranges."

Karna took in this information and nodded. This made sense. He was truly in an alien land. But before he could contemplate on this matter any more, Isawé cut through his thoughts with a question.

"Excuse me sir, but why did you call me a troubled lady?"

Karna raised his head to look at her.

"Are you not?"

She squirmed under his intense gaze.

"Well….maybe I am. I mean, yes."

"But how did you know?"

Karna smiled.

"I simply know people. It is a trait of mine. I know how troubled by life you are. I know how you wish nothing more than to rest. I know you miss someone very badly. O lady, there are not many things that remain hidden from my foolish sight. Even your strength of character cannot stay within this veil you wear in front of me. You are indeed admirable."

Isawé flushed at this and sat down upon now clear soil of her home. This angel had seen right through her. She supposed such was the nature of angels.

Karna saw this and felt elated. She was awed by him, but not angry or annoyed. He never truly understood where exactly he went wrong, but he inadvertently ended up creating disasters when he opened his mouth to speak. He was very warm at heart - an immensely caring person who wished for the good of all. Yet, he was labelled as spiteful in place of truthful, arrogant in place of proud, and bitter in place of humble. He wondered if it was due to him not having proper expressions as is expected. He knew he came off as cold and uncaring. It was troublesome. But here it seems his kindness prevailed over his glacial visage.

Back to serious matters, Karna had a few more things to learn. He turned towards the overwhelmed Isawé once more. He needed information right now. He would definitely pay this kind lady back for putting up with him so much.

"Kind lady, if you do not mind, I would like to know a little of where I am. You see, I manifested here. I have little idea of where I am. I know there must be a reason why I have manifested here, and to answer those ends I feel I shall have to wander this world quite a bit. But I cannot dematerialise. So I would be in your debt if you could supply me with the knowledge of the lands."

Isawé looked at Karna and thought,

 _'Of course! He's a being from the heavens! Maybe he's lost? Maybe he fell down from the heaven? But….an angel is an angel. I must help him out. Maybe I shall be blessed myself if I do! I could really do with blessings right now. Life is so hard!'_

"I will help you. What is it that you need?"

"You have my heartfelt thanks, O lady! I shall definitely pay you back! As for what I need, I need you to tell me about the world in itself and of this land."

"I see. Well then, won't you come and sit in my humble house? My husband used to have quite a collection of maps. I'm not sure if I still have any left, though."

"If you insist."

Karna followed the woman into her hut. He believed that her husband must be dead now. He saw the emotions in her eyes when she spoke of him and the maps. That would also explain the haggard condition of the woman, and the vast pain lingering deep within her, hidden well by a brave and strong front. Nothing could be hidden from his gaze. He understood that such was the way of happenstances in the world that it was her inevitability to suffer.

But he had seen her eyes pleading for help. That had stirred his kind heart. As the saint of generosity, he would definitely answer that call for help.

They went into the hut and Isawé made Karna sit in a simple stool, while she began rummaging about in the hut in search of anything that would be relevant. The helter skelter went around for a long time, in midst of which Isawé apologized to Karna for making him sit in such quaint thing that barely qualified as furniture, and for taking so long in her search. Karna assured her that it was alright and she should not work herself up so much. All this hurried action in search of relevant documents took them through the deep evening and quite a bit into the night. The stars emerged out of the deepening gloom one by one and the moon peeked out from the mountains with a tantalising leisure. The stars moved along, seemingly twinkling brightly without a care in the world; the moon glided along and cast her pale light into a world speckled with white.

But no map had been found.

It turned out that she had no relevant books or papers left behind. All the intellectual prints were sold off in preference of food. Survival was more important.

"It is not of much inconvenience. You can simply describe the manner of things to me," Karna said, and then corrected himself looking at her weary from again, "But I can wait till tomorrow. Kind lady, you have pushed yourself too much for my sake. You should rest. Your body is pleading for some rest. It is good courtesy to listen to what is being asked of you with your heart and your mind. If the food is what ails your mind, I shall cook. It would be unbecoming of me if I do not pay back my host."

"Oh no, no! I can tell you what you wish to know by myself. I can go on a little longer! And you needn't make anything. I can cook! It would be better!"

Karna took a long glance at her with his sharp and piercing eyes, and she fell silent uncomfortably. He then sighed and closed his eyes.

Such a sad woman. It was but natural for a woman in her condition to be as desperate as she was. She was asking him for a boon, an alm, yet in her pride she could not even voice it out to him. It was his duty though to fulfil the wishes of a person who pleads to him, be it a spoken or unspoken plea, if it was within reason and within his strength.

"You need not look for good karma in such a way. If it is a request for aid that is in your heart, would it not be better to ask for it rather than put your trust in fate? In the first place, a means of aid that you see in front of you - is it not a stroke of luck? Would you ignoring the opportunity to ask for help not be the same as denying your own fate?"

Isawé grew deathly pale at this and went still at Karna's declaration. He had effortlessly seen into her true being, tearing apart her poorly constructed veil within a moment. She knew well of divine justice and divine wrath. She had been taught that ever since her childhood. So she knew what his words meant.

Tears welled up in her eyes and slowly started streaming down her face. Within moments, she was sobbing uncontrollably. Everything that had been spiralling downwards since the death of her husband had finally hit the abyss. There was no respite for her after this point. She had failed.

Karna turned away without a word to her. As she sat wailing her heart out, he spoke not a word to her. Instead he rummaged through her belongings and lit the stove. He left the woman who thought her life was forfeit to her own devices and cooked up a meal for her.

He did something like that not out of coldness in his heart, but rather because he was not good with words enough to know what to speak at that moment. At such moments, he believed, words were unnecessary. They could never convey his true feelings in the first place. And so, to let her know that there was kindness left in this world, he simply decided to show that to her. He wanted this poor, suffering woman to know that he had heard her plea for salvation, and he would deliver it to her.

"I apologise for using your belongings without your permission. I shall make atonement later."

"But here is your dinner. Eat it."

Karna said to Isawé as he put up her meal in front of her.

The mentally broken Isawé could do nothing but eat. To her, it was akin to a death sentence. She had no choice other than accepting it. As she began eating she was caught by surprise - the meal was quite tasty. But she hid her surprise and said nothing.

Karna, however, had been waiting for exactly this window. He gently spoke up to her.

"I will help you. I have heard your plea for salvation, O unfortunate lady. I do not let those who come and ask something from me in desperation go back empty handed. I will grant you salvation. The world is not as low as you believe, nor is your life at an end. All you need to do for now is eat and go to sleep. Just as you have asked me for aid, your body is pleading to you for rest. I shall remain outside at night and ward off the snows if they come. A debt must be repaid, after all."

Speaking out his part, Karna gently went outside into the open world. From within the hut he could hear weeping. Those he knew were tears of joy. Tears of finding hope after being devoid of it for so long. This was the reason he gave alms to all. To give others hope and happiness. To make his father, the Sun, proud. He looked up to the sky and imagined his father in all his radiant glory smiling down at him. If nothing else, this was definitely something he would always be summoned for. For his first day, Karna did well in his own eyes.

He walked down to the base of a barren tree and sat down at its roots. He then leaned back, enjoying the cold breeze against his armored skin. Smiling skyward, he closed his eyes to the night. His first day was done.

* * *

 _ **A.N. - So this was the first chapter. Hope you enjoyed it. And yes, the first of the servants definitely is Karna. He is one of my favourite servants. I would spoil you by saying this - there will be eight more servants. And I will conclude their introduction in this "Volume 1".**_

 _ **As for a few things about Karna -**_

 _ **He is the child of the Hindu Sun God Surya, an anti-hero of the epic, Mahabharata. He features in Fate Apocrypha as Lancer of Red, Extra CCC as Launcher, and as Lancer in Grand Order and Extella.**_

 ** _The rest about this Heroic Spirit and all the eight others I will upload in a sort of Databook, barring the Noble Phantasms, after the completion of the introduction._**

 ** _Oh, and for those who are wondering about the 'volume' thing, it is a nod to the Light Novels of the Fate franchise._**

 ** _Hope to see you by next update. I can range between an update a week to once a month. I'll make no promises on this matter._**


	3. Volume 1: Chapter 2

**Volume 1: Chapter 2 - The Knight King**

He gently opened his eyes, looking around him to get the bearing of his surroundings. He was in some sort of a field. The summer lazily stretched its fingers, filling the trees and with fruits and the grass with vibrance. Yet, it was nothing compared to the garden he had fallen asleep at. Every colour looked a bit dull, every little detail lacking in beauty. It was like looking at a photograph of a place after having been there in person.

' _Is it time?'_ The youth with a slight stature wondered, ' _Is this my kingdom, where I was bound to return again?'_

Either way, it was troublesome. Would he be recognized? He was not the great man and the ideal king that many thought he was. Was it even logical to have him return to that kingdom which he had driven into ruins to rule it once again? And where even were his loyal Knights? He thought they would return with him if he ever did return. Was he not but half a king without them? No matter what had happened, he had forgiven them all. He needed them.

He realised he was getting ahead of himself. With this realisation came sobriety, and the calmer he became, the more his _instinct_ told him that something was wrong. Instinct had never steered him in the wrong direction. So he took the best course of action he could - he dematerialised his armor and was left behind with terribly old fashioned but regal clothing. His long hair remained tied over his back, giving him a curious look overall. He looked like a young prince in his twenties who had suddenly decided to run away to a farm.

Before he could take another decision though, his mind was assailed by a power. A great power unlike anything he had felt before, except perhaps the power he felt in his sword itself. The power did nothing other than putting a certain directive in his mind: he had been pulled away from his rest at Avalon and summoned by some great power for the sake of fulfilling a mission. He knew instinctively that this mission was of a far greater scope than merely his kingdom.

He sat down quietly on the green grass, reviewing what just happened.

After the Fifth Holy Grail war and his contract with Shirou Emiya, he had decided to go back quietly and accept his fate. It was his destiny, and everyone would be better off if he gave up on his regrets and tried his best again within the frame of what he could. And this time around, not be so hard on everyone. Thus he had passed on to Avalon, where he passed the time in a dreamlike state - in a hazy but beautiful leisure. He knew not how much time had passed since he had been there, but after what he knew was a fairly long time, he had fallen asleep like he regularly used to do. But unlike all other sleep, this had filled him. This brought him back to wakefulness. The time had come when Arthur Pendragon was needed again. That time was now.

Arthur shook his head to clear the cobweb in his thoughts. Maybe he wasn't quite as lucid as he believed.

He looked around a saw a tree. It was a great maple tree. He walked over and sat under the shade of the tree. Had he been as he used to be before his journey to Avalon, he would have hastened to find out everything. Now, though, he did not want to repeat those mistakes again and would definitely take things easier. He did not want everyone to fall behind again.

Arthur lazily checked out his equipments and narrowed his eyes.

' _Excalibur, Avalon and Rhon. The first I had returned to the Lady of the Lake, the second I had lost, and the third I had given up, and I am no heroic spirit. How is it that I have all three?'_

This was troublesome. He _instinctively_ knew that everything was not what it looked like. For him to have such power at his disposal, he must be hanging on the sharp edge of a sword.

He sighed. How troublesome. All this trouble just when he thought that he had attained harmony. But...whatever the situation may be, he knew he would face it when the time came. It wouldn't do to be maniacally harsh on himself with all postulates of justice, duty and chivalry. He had learnt this lesson the hard way in life.

For now the sun was warm, the breeze was cool, the singing of birds pleasant and his spot under the shade of the tree on the little field very comfortable, so he would just enjoy the weather and sleep. He had no kingdom to save right at that peaceful moment.

* * *

Arthur awakened with a yelp, startled like a hare. From head to toe he was dripping with water smelling of rust. His royal down-clothes that were worn under his armor were now drenched dark along with faint stains of red.

"Oi brat! Who're ye? What be you meanin' sleepin' in my grounds? 'Tis private property! Git that in yer thick skull, ye damn hooligan!"

Arthur blinked the water out of his eyes and blearily looked at the source of the commotion. It was a burly old man with a cacophony of grey, white and black hair meshed together. His face was set in a grimace which seemed to be his default expression, going by the lines on his face acquired by nearly a lifetime of practice. His teeth, exposed by his hideous grimace, were black like sin - definitely the results of chewing too much tobacco for too long. Even the very air around him seemed to be warped by the heavy smell of tobacco.

Arthur sighed again. It seemed that his peace was broken again. Such a troublesome world.

He got up and bowed to the beast of a man.

"I apologize for trespassing, sir. I didn't know that this was private property."

Arthur said this with such a tone of sincerity that it gave the hulking beast of a man a pause. Arthur's _charisma_ was at work.

The man's positively murderous mood dropped down and became more of a grumbling and smouldering sort. He looked Arthur up and down and saw that his clothes, though old fashioned, looked like that of a rich young man. Not of the sort to steal or pillage.

"Ye don't look to be trouble. Say what might ye be doin' in my property? Are ye lost, kiddo?"

Arthur smiled brightly at this.

"Yes sir. Actually I am lost. And I saw the tree here and wanted to take a little rest. And then I ended up falling asleep. Hahaha!"

While Arthur had not completely given the truth, he had not lied either. Technically all he said was true, and thus got him out of the pinch while not even violating his code of chivalry. This was something he adopted after his time in Avalon. A lazy justice. Where laziness could have been a curse for anyone else, to Arthur, who had overworked so harshly to the point that his kingdom had fallen apart, taking things easier than before was a boon to his personality and all around him.

"Brat….th' night's out. Where d'ya even intend to sleep? Got any money on ya?"

"Not really, sir. And I would have found someplace, I'm sure."

"Ain't that the gaudiest bunch o' nonsense I've ever heard? Brat! You be suppin' with us tonight! I'll get ye gone early mornin', even if I gotta splash yer numbskull again. But tonight yer' suppin' an' sleepin' with us," he said, and before Arthur could even make a sound of protest, he added, "An' ye argue with me, ye'll see stars in yer eyes for hours an' be missin' some tooth too. Now haul yer ass off after me!"

The giant of a man walked off into the gloom of the night, believing he'd scared Arthur enough that he's not run away. It was a strange way of doing things, but who was Arthur to question that? He would never claim to be right in his own way; he was the one who led his country to its demise. He could and would try to be correct himself, but would never belittle another or claim to be right. Whatever the old man's mannerisms may be, he seemed to have his heart in the right place. A gruff but kind man.

Arthur stepped after the retreating form of the old man, deciding not to turn down the invitation. He had no reason to turn the old man down. The night around them was beautiful. The moon was shining with a light that far surpassed anything Arthur had known during his own lifetime. A greater sphere, pearl white - shining down upon the world with brightness ambitious enough to rival the sun. The stars were brighter too. Larger and more inconsistent. Blinking across the skies like the souls of human beings flickering through the ages. Through the field and beyond, the fog swirled in glee, clothing the world in a glowing garment of white. It danced to the will of the chilly breeze blowing without a comprehensive direction. Hither and thither, wherever it willed, the breeze directed the fog. With this simple action, the invisible wind had become visible to the eyes of even a child. The moonlit white drapery of the fog glowed wondrously, and within the greater glow a fainter, more subtle glow embroidered it. Thousands of fireflies flitted through the night sky with their glow which would have been enough to light up the field in a dark night. Although in the presence of such a formidable moon, their strength was diminished to a mere softer glow within the greater.

Every step Arthur and the gruff old man took released more of these luminous insects from the grasp of the earth. And Arthur could not help but close his eyes and draw a deep breath from the fresh air. Such beauty. Such purity. The air was thrumming with an abundance of mana. Pure. Otherworldly. Arthur instinctively realised - this was not his world. It never could be his world. During the day he might not have realised this, but the night made it abundantly clear.

"Oy'! Catch up, ya damn brat!"

The old man's voice roared out ahead. The gap between him and Arthur had increased quite a bit.

"Of course sir!"

Arthur sped up his steps and caught up to the old man, who had slowed himself down for a bit. The old man clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"Damn egghead. Quit callin' me 'sir', will ye? I've got a name, see? My name's Helm, and don't ya forget it."

"Of course, Sir Helm."

"Go to hell!"

Arthur smiled. How long it had been since he had a conversation like this, he wondered. It was like he had gone back to times when he was younger. His early days as a king with his loyal Knights of the Round.

They were all good people; the best he could ever ask for. But they all had a fault. Everyone loved him so much that they never saw a fault in him. By the time they had realised how wrong things were, it was already too late. He had driven them all to that point of falling apart. He wished he had fought in the Holy Grail War alongside Shirou Emiya earlier in the chronology of his life. Maybe when he was a budding king. That war had taught him two important lessons - the first was that far more important than one's own ideals were the people that always stood beside them. And the second was that while there are times when you need to burn yourself out doing your best, the other times you need to live your life and appreciate the little things.

Emiya Shirou had discarded his own ideals at the end of the day to save the girl that he loved - Sakura Matou. More than that, he had taught Arthur to live. Arthur had seen the happiness in the eyes of the young couple when they were together even at the midst of a war. He had bitterly regretted ignoring and alienating Guinevere at that moment. He thought he was a King and a King must perform his duties. There was nothing greater to a King. He had cast aside his humanity. But that which he thought pointless was really what he remembered at the end of the Fifth Holy Grail War. The times of brotherly joy with Emiya Shirou. The light-hearted courtship with Rin Tohsaka. All the eyes shining with happiness, a sight he had lost as he grew more and more rugged in his life.

But what was to happen had happened. There was no point mulling over it. He tried his best and failed. That was all there really was to it. If he had been chosen for a second chance, he would take the lessons of life to his heart and try again. It was as simple as that.

Arthur and Helm walked through the hazy field and and into a small farm compound. They walked past a stable where the Horses stood slumbering, a few harrumphing in discomfort. Beyond that, the hazy outline of a barn was silhouetted against the glowing night. They walked in the opposite direction towards a small but beautiful cottage. Ivies and moss grew on the walls of the cottage, and the chimney was coughing out smoke, adding to the haze of the night. The fog all around the world of this little farm was growing stronger every minute.

Helm increased his pace as mist droplets so great that it could be passed off as a light shower of rain began to fall. Arthur kept pace with him. Within seconds they were at the front door. Helm hammered at the door.

"Open up! I'm back! Open up fast!"

The door slowly creaked open to reveal the face of a young girl. Helm stomped in, beckoning Arthur to follow. Arthur gracefully went in after Helm.

"We got a guest. Get 'nother serving for dinner tonight, sweetie."

The girl nodded and disappeared into the depths of the house. Helm sighed and sat down heavily upon a couch.

"Keep yer eye off her, brat. She's my kid," Helm warned.

Arthur smiled and nodded.

"Of course!"

And then his smile faded. For a house such as homely as this, it sure seemed to be gloomy.

He looked around the room. It was a living room with moderate furnishing. The walls of stone seemed to be alive with paintings and pictures. At a corner of the room, a violin stood in a glass box displayed cheerfully. Above the box rested a portrait of a pretty lady with a cheerful smile. The lady of the household.

"Is that your Madame, Sir Helm?"

Arthur pointed out at the picture. Helm didn't even need to turn and look.

"Aye. A fine lady she was, tamin' a ruffian like me."

He got up from his seat and slowly turned towards the case, turning his back to Arthur again.

"Ember. That's her name. It's been long since she left me an' Swan alone," He said, glancing back at the picture wistfully. "Crazy woman. Looks pretty like a sheep, but her spirit's naught but dragon. Wilder than even me. Can ya believe it? Hahahahaha!"

Helm's booming laughter echoed through the house. Slowly it faded away, looming into a silence that settled heavily around the room despite the smile on his face.

"Wish she coulda stayed longer."

Arthur said nothing. He knew instinctively what was coming. He still asked, though. Something was ailing this man, chipping him off bit by bit. He knew it had to be something within the house. A knight's chivalry was something that was hammered down to his very soul, even more so being a king who is a knight. He may choose to ignore it, he may disregard it, but it was always there. And his chivalry dictated him to look out for his gracious host.

As for Helm, he was in a different world altogether. He remembered. He remembered when his world had suddenly changed season.

* * *

 _Helm heaved a sigh as he finished off the last of his opponents. Damned greedy fools who always bit off more than they could chew. Fuck these pests! Always crawling out like cockroaches who caught the scent of rotting garbage. He had declared months earlier that this was his turf. He intended to claim this land as his own, and would fuck up any fucking whoreson who stepped on it. But these fucking shitheads never seemed to learn._

 _Helm looked around the battlefield and saw that the corpses had bloodied his land. He kicked at a corpse in anger. Filthy shits who came and dirtied his land by spilling their useless blood over his damned land as if it was theirs to come and die as they fucking pleased. Fuck them! Couldn't they fucking find a graveyard to go and die in peace? He would have to give his men an earful too for killing so carelessly in his land._

 _He kept fuming like walking furnace, moving with certainty in the direction of a stream. He needed a bath to clean off and cool his mind. His men gave him a wide berth as he walked; they knew of his after battle temper. No one wanted to be decapitated right after living through another battle._

 _As he walked on with a fixed destination in mind, he heard a sound. It lengthened out into a heart-rending melody of a kind Helm had never heard before. He paused, his previous thoughts all but forgotten. Slowly he turned towards the source of the melody and began walking as a moth drawn to flame. Closer and closer did he draw towards the source of the music; louder and louder the music grew. After what seemed to be an eternity, her saw her - a beautiful young lady playing something that seemed to him to be a bamboo pipe. She was lying under a tree in a lazy manner that belied her being the true source of the music. It rather seemed as though the world around her itself was singing. A harmony that went beyond mere physical state of being. He had never seen a sight so beautiful, nor felt the way he did now ever before._

 _So he grew annoyed._

" _'Ey! What the fuck be you doin' in my territory?"_

* * *

 _He was annoyed. His men were laughing at him and a god-be-fucking-damned_ monkey _sat upon the tree juggling apples on a branch. The monkey had long, beautiful hair fairer than her skin. Would she goddamn care about his reputation if not her own fucking skin? He felt a headache coming on._

" _The fuck do you want? Look 'ere, ya monkey, you're gonna fall and break yer damn neck! And then my damn land will be stained red. So can ya just come down now like a sensible fuckin' lady?"_

" _No!"_

 _A beautiful voice floated down towards Helm. It was not a high pitched voice. Helm did not like that squeaky sounding stuff anyways. It was something that could be called a deep baritone. A voice that belonged to the very earth. That was what he considered beautiful._

" _I'll come down only if you agree to be my bodyguard. And if you let me come to your place whenever I want. And maybe smile a bit more."_

 _She then burst into laughter, and Helm's entire world was brightened. That annoyed him to no end. And the half eaten apples that she scattered while laughing made it even worse._

 _But this monkey was not leaving without getting what she wanted. What a fearsome critter!_

" _Fine. I'll do that, ya shitty brat," Helm grumbled. "Now get the fuck down!"_

" _Alright! Now that you're my bodyguard, you've got to protect me! Catch!"_

 _And she fearlessly leapt off the branch of the maple tree she always haunted like a forest sprite._

" _Goddamnit!"_

 _He rushed forward and caught her before she fell do_ _wn on the ground and hurt herself. But he had to throw himself to the ground so that she would not get hurt. Some days, he wondered why the fuck did he even care so much._

 _All around him his men who were looking on at the spectacle before them cheered and hooted. Some even had the gall to make catcalls. The monkey herself laughed and stood up, saying something about how fun that was. He abruptly stood up and glared at her. He was fucking pissed. Everyone who was watching either suddenly returned to their work or simply made themselves scarce. The monkey gulped nervously._

 _Helm scooped her up like a sack of grain and started walking towards the boundaries of his land. He would goddamn dump this monkey outside and tell his men to keep her out. Her protests rang across his ears, and damn did she hit hard!_

 _An unbidden smile crept upon Helm's lips unawares._

* * *

" _I don't fuckin' care! Bring me that useless fuckin' waste of space! I'll fuckin' tear that fucker apart limb from limb! Medic, yer the only one to stay with me! The rest, fuckin' move yer asses before I shove a pole up each of yer shiny asses till they fuckin' come outta yer mouth, ye hear me?!"_

 _Helm was furious. Some bastard had come to his land to make a deal with him, and then they saw her. They tried to lay a hand of her, on his goddamn monkey. She fought back and made a commotion. Someone heard the noise and ran towards her, brandishing his sabre. He couldn't take a shot for fear of hitting the lady. But the hooligans had already run off by the time he reached her. They had tried to…_

 _Helm wanted those bastards. Alive. They would know what it meant to cross him. They would know what it was to defile what belonged to him. She was his damn musician. His damn monkey. His!_

 _He would fucking pour gasoline over those motherfuckers and burn them alive!_

 _But somewhere, Helm himself was hurt. She was his - but he did not even know her name. He never even asked. What sort of a piece of shit was he if he did not even know the name of one of his greatest treasures? How could he even claim that she was his?_

" _Fuck!"_

 _Helm smashed his fist on a table._

" _Helm?"_

 _His lady had woken up. She was looking at him with baleful eyes. It tightened Helm's chest to see her in such a sad condition._

" _Hey! Don't be sad! I got them good, you know! They did not get away without a scratch! And hey, this is really suffocating! Hey medic! Can we please move out into that maple tree?"_

 _The medic said nothing. Helm took one end of the small makeshift bed she was in and motioned the medic to take hold of the other end. The medic moved to do as his boss directed him. Helm also gently draped the lady in a thick blanket so that she would not be affected by the chill outside. Together the two began to move the bed and the lady towards the Maple tree. The lady kept on blabbering something or the other, and at the same pace tears streamed down Helm's face._

 _That night, Helm confessed everything to his lady._

 _That night, the lady cried for the first time and showed him her weaknesses, her fears._

 _That night, two people bared each other's self to each other - an act far greater than even baring of bodies to each other._

 _And finally, she smiled and said -_

" _Ember. My name is Ember."_

* * *

"Diner is ready."

Helm's daughter cut him off from his reminiscence of a past that would never come back. In truth, that maple tree that he had found Arthur lying under and his daughter Swan were the only two relics from that past. Now even she had fallen in love with someone. Even she wanted to leave him behind. How could she! Helm had declared the very day his daughter confessed to loving someone that he would never accept anyone, no matter who that person may be. He could not just let her leave like that.

And yet, he wondered how long could he keep his own daughter with him like a relic of the past. It was not easy for him to accept that his time was over, especially when he still had the strength to do a lot.

"Let us go, Sir Helm."

Helm turned and cast an eye on him. Truth be told, he brought this kid in tonight because his mannerisms and his answer reminded him of Ember for a moment. He even had that damn smile.

' _An' now I'm playin' host. Great!'_

Helm turned and walked towards the dining room. A troubled man with a lot of thoughts, and perhaps too much strength left in his limbs. That was who he was.

Arthur followed close behind, easily falling into his code of chivalry. He wondered if he should speak out loud, then subsequently decided not to. He was but a guest, and should not overstep his bounds. Perhaps there would be time.

Dinner was a quiet and uneasy affair. Helm was deep in thought and there was a palpable gloom surrounding Ember. Arthur could almost smell the dejection of the girl like the aroma of his food. He broke the silence on many occasions, mostly because the entire situation felt too similar to him. An uncanny resemblance to something of his own life. The later years of the round table. Helm was himself; Ember would be Mordred. Even the results would be the same, if someone did not do something fast. He wondered if this uneasy feeling of his was what Bedevere had felt back then?

Chivalry was such a pain!

"Sir Helm! You have such a wonderful daughter! This dinner is indeed a feast fit for Kings! I'm sure you're quite proud of her. And I'm sure the Madame would have been very proud of how you've handled her upbringing. You must be keeping the little lady quite happy, to compensate for her mother's absence!"

Helm said nothing, choosing to keep silent. His lines on his face deepened even further. Swan scrunched up her face in bitterness. If only this boy knew! What would he know of the hell that this place had become for her? Her father tried to keep her happy, to make up for her mother's absence. But he never seemed to realise that he couldn't! He was her father! She really loved him, but why was he that way? Why couldn't he understand how she felt? It got even worse after she grew up a bit more. She was sure she was like a stand in for her mother. Didn't he get it? Her mother was gone and nothing could ever take that place! Everyone and everything else had their own place in life and the world! Her father even rejected Fairthorn without even listening to her! Even when Fairthorn had promised that he would come to her place and help her with her father because he loved her!

Sometimes, she just wanted to tear herself away, consequences be fucking damned!

Arthur saw the raw emotions pass through the eyes of the two. He didn't know if he doomed the two or helped, but he knew he tried. He just couldn't be Bedevere who stood by silently saying nothing. He wasn't his best friend - nowhere near as strong. But he knew he made a decision. He would stand by it and see it through.

But all that could come later, the food was heavenly! He needed to eat right now. Hunger is the enemy!

At the end of the spectre silent dinner, Arthur was led to a small spare room by Swan. He thanked her and laid wide awake upon the cot, staring at the unnaturally big moon. The mist swirled in the room with the cold breeze, but Arthur ignored it. The night was indeed beautiful. A great disaster? That could wait. On his first day, he would rather consider correcting a small disaster that he saw in front of his eyes. A knight had his chivalry, and he was, after all, the King of Knights.

* * *

 _ **A.N. - The first update to this story is done, and this features a version of King Arthur who is an amalgam of Prto-Arthur and the well recognised Artoria. Looking at the existence of a male and a female Arthur, we can sufficiently deduce that any number of alternative existences are possible. So this is my take on a King Arthur who fought the grail war with Shirou Emiya, and later on transcended to Avalon. This is an Arthur who was cold and emotionless - a machine of a king during his lifetime. His experiences in the holy grail war fighting alongside a Shirou who went down the Haven's Feel route with minor changes. Although he did not escape corruption from the grail, he retained his memories and derived his own conclusion from the events.**_

 ** _Hope you liked the chapter, and hope you liked this iteration of one of the most popular characters in the Fate franchise. See you all in the next update!_**


	4. Volume 1: Chapter 3

**Volume 1: Chapter 3 - Dragon Blooded Warrior**

Wind rushed through his hair, blood pumped through his veins; He was alive again. His yellowish serpentine eyes beheld the scenery for the first time in a long while. Almost immediately in his mind the presence of an old friend made itself known. Impatient and restless, happy and bewildered.

It was his one and only true companion of the battlefield, the one who stayed with him despite all the odds.

 _'Grani?'_

 _Acknowledgement. Admonishment_.

It seemed that right after being brought back to life from death, the first thing his old friend wished to bring up was the matter of his death. He snorted.

He did die a pathetic death. The invulnerable hero undefeated in all the battles of his life stabbed to death during his sleep. He did not go out without a fight even after that. He dragged his raging killer down to the jaws of death with him. Vengeance was not something that he was above seeking. But truthfully, more so than for himself, he felt sad for the one who he really held the closest to his heart. What a fine pair of fools they made!

Sigurd and Brynhildr.

 _Anger. Chastisement._

Grani was angry now. Sigurd smiled wryly.

 _'I know my friend. It is just that...I wish Brynhildr had a better end. If only back then I had opened my mind to you and trusted you more. In the end though, it is something that will never come to pass.'_

 _'Anyways, we have just been… incarnated? That is what it feels like. Don't you find that more interesting, old friend?'_

 _Acknowledgement. Wonder and Confusion._

Sigurd knew he was brought out of his 'history' to fight. Someone immensely powerful had summoned him. His presence at the current moment almost felt like an incarnation. But there was something wrong with it and he didn't know what it was. Even the knowledge that coursed within his mind was incomplete. Fragmented.

But Sigurd had no doubt he would take some action. He had set out for lands beyond his own during his life seeking adventure. He wished to be a hero, but his definition of a hero was different from many. He was a man who lived alongside with his wishes, doing what he believed was right. Right and wrong were all subjective. What mattered the most was belief. And he held onto that belief throughout his life. He merely wished he had been more competent. By the end of his life, his beliefs were almost crumbling. He was so torn between oaths that his own wishes had become incoherent. For all the might he had, it wasn't enough to avert the tragedy that befell Brynhildr, his beloved. If this was a chance again at life, he would not be so negligent or trusting this time.

 _Satisfied approval._

Grani was in tandem with Sigurd. He was the great divine steed of Sigurd; he had acknowledged Sigurd alone, and no other warrior would he allow the honor of riding upon him in the battlefield. His and Sigurd's bond was immense - two beings who lived together at the battlefield. This was the epitome of the bond between a beast and a man. So Sigurd's happiness mattered a great deal to him, and his resolve heartened him.

They both saw their 'incarnation' as another chance. What was done could never be corrected, but what possibility they had in hand was endless. A new tale of a great hero and his great steed could be written on the anneals of time again - They would carve it out themselves.

Sigurd tingled with energy. There was another journey before him, waiting to be unfolded by him and his partner. He could not stop a slight grin from etching itself upon his lips. It was a draconic smile exuding ferocity. The dragon blooded warrior's blood was boiling.

 _'Old friend, should we begin our journey anew?'_

 _Definitive agreement._

Grani materialised himself, and the divine power that he exuded seemed to tingle in the very branches of the trees and the droplets of water upon the leaves. With a laugh Sigurd vaulted upon the back of the massive grey beast; Grani reared up and neighed, the forest rippling at the sound of a beast of higher order. And then the divine beast and draconic human being charged ahead as one, neither asserting mastery over the other. The concept of rider and mount did not apply to them. They were partners, friends who had ridden together into a war, and this time around into the world.

The alpine forest heaved, trees bulging and being blown outward. It was as though the world itself had given birth to a legend anew - a hero who burst forth from his mother's womb. The thundering form of a man and his steed seared a trail in the skies and disappeared into the dull late-afternoon gloom.

* * *

Sparks blinked in and out of existence, swarming like a host of ephemeral fireflies in the thousands. Blades met and parted - a dance of old lovers, of life and death in a modern form refined down through the centuries. The ring of naked blades against each other permeated the air, setting the music for this dance of death. The dance floor was speckled red; the green of the summer grass glossed over by the red of human blood. Some dancers were better than others, and the lesser always dropped down in a spray of red. That was inevitable.

Wolftooth was the best among the dancers present in this great, merciless ball. He fought with all his might, and yet had a finesse and sophistication in his from that was not to be found in anyone else. He raged back and forth across the grounds; where he went, red and death followed close behind. In this battle of lesser warriors than himself, Wolftooth was a calamity.

Wolftooth was a young warrior - well built and really tall for his age. His father had been a warrior and he followed in his father's footsteps. But where his father lost repeatedly to another, he vowed that he would lose to no warrior alive. That was where his worth came from. Not once had he been bested in a battle, and his reputation earned him a generous purse.

Some days he just wished he could become an invading lord himself. His value was great in battlefield, but there were very few battles in this part of the country, and he was loathe to leave his land of birth. Helmlet was where he had been born and brought up. Helmlet was where his father had lost time and time again to that man, who disappeared after his final acquisition of some land at the border of the state. Helmlet had to be the place where he took down that man who defeated his father. Only then would he be free from the hold of this land - free to move towards other battlefields across the country. Warhounds like him belonged to the battlefield and to the land more than anything.

The battle raged on like a primitive expression of fury, as one side gradually overwhelmed the other. Where Wolftooth went, there followed victory. Such was the saying and it could not be refuted even today - Wolftooth himself would make sure his reputation of unceasing victory never diminished.

Thus, Wolftooth was surprised when all of a sudden a thunderous roar that barely sounded like a neigh reverberated through the battlefield. In all his time devoted to these small battlefields, he had never felt such power ever before, nor heard a roar such as this.

A dreadful silence fell across the battlefield as every eye was directed skywards. Something was coming, the pressure of whose presence was palpable enough to render an entire battlefield silent. What was this feeling? An invasion of mages? It could be nothing less, for not a man alive in the battlefield had ever felt anything like this. If it was indeed the work of some mage, the spell had taken hold of the battlefield now.

Wolftooth roared suddenly as he cleaved apart a veteran man into two like a butcher in a meat stall. As he moved towards his second victim, the soldiers slowly started moving back into the reality of the battlefield. But it was a half hearted battle. On every single mind the presence in the sky was something that loomed over them like a guillotine blade over the neck. It could drop down at any given second.

Yet the battle trudged on. It had to, for in a battlefield there were only two options - kill or be killed. Wolftooth was one who would definitely kill, rather than be killed. He twirled the short, oddly curved blade in his left hand, while gathering strength in his right to swing the longer and heavier axe. A blow came from the back was aimed at him, hoping to catch him off-guard, but Wolftooth was not unaware. He swung the axe from the end of its shaft with all his might, spinning in place as the axe swung with the strength of his spin and added its own weight to it, sweeping aside the opposing blow and tearing through the armor and flesh of the victim. The blade in the left hand simultaneously licked out, piercing through the newly made gap in the armor and up towards the heart, ascertaining Wolftooth's kill. The battle axe, having completed its rotation, was now held by the middle of its long shaft for better mobility. There was no gap between the actions of his right arm and his left. Another heavier and slower attempt at his life announced itself in the corner of his vision. Wolftooth pirouetted out of its way, then gracefully shifted behind his assailant, sliding the blade gracefully but powerfully across his opponent's throat. The mallet struck the ground just as his eyes rolled back and tongue lolled out. Wolftooth danced away for another kill. And then another. And another. And so the killing went on and on, just as the afternoon gradually moved to evening.

Eventually the battle was done. The crimson sash bearing side had won the ground, and the black leather wearing troops had either been slain, or put to flight towards the hills. Wolftooth kept his word - he was victorious another day.

And yet, that presence in the sky persisted. It neither moved closer, nor did it go away. It was almost as if the world had been frozen in a great state of unrest, and that was causing in everyone a certain sense of dread. Do they dare make a camp here? Or should they move further ahead? But as it stands, they were exhausted from the long day of battle. There were also the wounded to tend to, and the fallen to take care of. The camp must be made nearby, and soon.

It was then that the champion of the day did something that changed these soldiers' perception forever.

"Oy! Whoever ye may be! Come the fuck down like a man! What? Can ye do nothing but stare from the sky like a goddamn lass? If ye be a man, get down here, damnit!"

The field echoed with the power of Wolftooth's voice. The hills made sure of it. But there was no answer save for the echo.

Or so they thought.

Tearing away the tense silence a roar sounded in the world, a roar unheard of since the Gods had vacated themselves from the mortal plane. Then a meteor slammed itself upon the battlefield vacated a while earlier. The power rolling off in waves from that direction was a clear indication of the presence of something or someone immensely powerful, even though the dust obscured the vision of what it was. Everyone waited with bated breath of fear and anticipation.

The dust was blown away suddenly and the first thing they saw was a huge horse with flaming eyes, its coat a dull grey akin to the thickest of smoke. Their eyes fell upon a strange man next, with outlandish armor and strange, glowing markings upon his skin. Both the rider and the steed were impossibly imposing and grim, as though the tales of old they heard in their childhood nights had suddenly come to life right before their eyes.

Slowly and deliberately the horse and the rider advanced, power rolling off them like waves from the sea. Suddenly the rider dismounted and continued advancing on foot. All aside from Wolftooth stepped back, even as the exotic warrior stopped in front of their own little legend. The rider stood a bit taller over Wolftooth, and it was visible that the young man was now sweating and tense like a bowstring ready to fire.

The outlandish man bowed.

"I apologize for having intruded upon the battlefield. Maybe I should have moved on. It was thoughtless of me. Sorry."

* * *

Sigurd was disturbed.

He had went and done something stupid again. When he had been thundering through the skies with Grani, he saw a battle taking place below. They together had stopped to observe the battle. It was the first battle they had the fortune to observe after such a long lull in the Throne, and that had made them quite excited. Sigurd had debated whether he should show himself before them. But that had seemed to him to be overstepping his bounds. It was not his place to butt in, and it would be rude to the warriors to do so. But he could not just leave like that. Maybe he should move in to congratulate the winner after the end of the battle? But...what a dilemma this was. So Sigurd and Grani had decided to merely observe passively. And then, the best amongst them had called Sigurd out and laid bare his discourtesy.

Sigurd never understood what the problem was with his luck. It never seemed to favour him at all.

 _Sheer amusement_

Grani snorted behind him. He was laughing. Sigurd's luck never ceased to amuse him. He honestly hoped though that his luck would not bring him down to ruins again.

Sigurd now noticed though that these soldiers who had been so tensed at the beginning were now slowly regaining their composure. Even the man who challenged him, a fine young warrior, now relaxed a bit. This was good, for as far as he knew, he himself was a little socially awkward. Moreover, this young man interested him.

As for Wolftooth, the whole situation descended all of a sudden into something very awkward from a very frightening one. Here was a being of immense power apologizing to him by bowing his head. It seemed like a strange dream. Nonetheless, he needed to respond now.

"Apology accepted. But what're ye doin' here anyway? And more importantly, who're ye?"

Wolftooth asked the questions that had been prevalent in every soldier's mind and wanted answered in earnest. Who was this man? Where did he come from? Why was he here? Mysteries that demanded curiosity to be satisfied.

"I am Sigurd, the wandering dragon slayer. And that is Grani, my greatest friend."

Grani neighed, this time as simply as any other horse does.

"We were travelling through the land when we saw the battle. We became interested. So we watched. We had nothing particularly in mind anyways, the reason why we had taken to wandering. I'm sorry if I caused any disturbance."

The soldiers were all surprised this time. Where was this from? A dragon slayer? Was this man a fabled traveller from the Far Side? But then, what was he doing in the Near Side? How did he have nothing to do? His reply raised even more questions than they answered.

As for Wolftooth, all that he could be concerned with was that a great player had entered the battlefield all of a sudden. This being was so powerful, and yet so humble. He didn't understand really. But what he did understand is that if the enemy force truly did have a line of mages as the rumors floating around suggested, this man would be an invaluable addition to his own group. He must play his cards well, in this case.

"Ya did say ya're so sorry fer being so disrespectful to the battlefield, right?"

Sigurd narrowed his eyes, but then he nodded.

"Then ya'know, ya should try going with us. I'm not askin' ya to fight anyone fer me. Nah. I'll ask fer help if the time comes an' be sure ya have the choice to reject me. An' ye don't have anythin' to do anyways. What say?"

Sigurd knew this chance was something double edged. On one hand what the young man was saying was true. It was a good opportunity for him. But on the other hand, he was not sure if the side he would be picking is the right side. He had committed too many mistakes during his life to make a rash decision again. Sometimes he found himself wondering if the massive cursed blade upon his back had really cursed him too.

 _Questioning. Encouragement._

Grani really wanted him to push past his fears. Sigurd's fate tied in with Grani's fate, and whatever he did, this time Sigurd would not be alone. This thought comforted Sigurd. He might have died alone during his life, but this time he had his dear friend. He might have burst forth into the world out of excitement immediately after coming into being, but this would be his first true step into leaving a mark upon the world as a hero. And his loyal steed, his greatest friend would forever be by his side.

 _'Very well. I shall try my best, old friend. And thank you.'_

Sigurd smiled. Something struck him as funny in its irony. He was a man who was not good with other people. In fact, the 'person' he could really call his greatest friend was a divine beast. If he had not really been as renowned as he was, or really as powerful, people would probably have called him an eccentric shut-in. Nonetheless, all legends did have a touch of madness upon them. That is what separated them from the mundane in the first place.

"Very well. Grani and I shall be following you and your company. Please do take care of us."

Wolftooth smiled something of a grim smile. He had made the deal with the devil; he could be damned, but it did seem he had the luck of the devil. He could feel the power of this horse and horseman. He could see that they had for sure come from the Far Side of the world. And he could definitely see that huge sword upon this man's back. That thing was definitely dangerous. Even without considering anything, any weapon of that size would be devastating if properly wielded. Add to that the exquisite craftsmanship of the weapon, no doubt forged in some mysterious and powerful forge of the Far Side. But what made him wary of that weapon the most was the feeling it was radiating. It was most definitely a cursed sword. He was sure of it even though he had never encountered any cursed weapon ever before during his lifetime.

But firstly his duties as a warrior preceded over everything now, and so he turned towards his men.

"Oy! Everyone git to work! Pitch up the damn camps! We've delayed ourselves like women fidgeting in their skirts long enough! Blackspike! Take yer men and look fer the wounded! Thornhall! Round up the dead! Falsebird! Take a look at the blasted enemy camp an at the total supplies! Choose yer men an git to work! Off yer asses damnit! And the rest, pitch the camp and rest! We rest till the day after tomorrow, an then break camp at dawn the day after, so better pitch it up real well! Off ye all go!"

Everyone shuffled off to do as their young commander ordered them. He might be young or a bit rough around the edges, but he was a good commander and an excellent warrior. Under this man, never have they once tasted defeat. But most importantly, he a good man, and so they found it easy to follow him.

Sigurd watched all this with a patient stance. He really was interested in this young man. He seemed to be a good leader, judging by how he called out Sigurd when his men were troubled. Or looking at how his men seemed to have a fond smile at his barks of command, despite how harsh he sounded or how young he was. He himself could probably never be able to command men in the manner this young warrior did. That was commendable.

And then the young man turned and gave Sigurd his full attention. He motioned Sigurd to walk with him, which amused Sigurd. He was so used to commanding people even at such a young age that he unknowingly commanded even a being he had been so afraid of just moments before. A smile again broke across Sigurd's face.

"I'm Wolftooth."

The young man, Wolftooth, cut through Sigurd's contemplations with the declaration. Sigurd paid him more attention, but said nothing.

"I know yer from the Far Side of the World. Any lad with half a mind would guess that. I dunno why you came to the Near Side, an' I'm not askin' ya ta tell me. But, ya know, I think ya should know why I want ya 'ere and which side yer joinin'."

Wolftooth looked at the impassive man. Was he smiling? Or was that his imagination? Whatever.

"Ya see, this war….'tis a war fer power. A rebellion. There's us the Tides, an' there's them, the Royals. Four years ago, the Old Duke died, and his son took over. He must'a been the shittiest this land had ever seen. Anyways, the entire country is already at war. So we plunged this land into it too. Everyone's tired with a lotta these nobles in power. 'Tis worst at the centre."

A grim countenance fell over Sigurd's face again.

"Here though, it's a bit tame. Good ol' blades clashin. Nothin' else. An' ya see, we're all bein' financed by the populace an' the merchant guilds. I think the merchants want to make themselves the power. Make money the greater power. Dunno. Should be good. The bastards who work hard gets the best of money, aye? Ya see, even I'm workin' so hard fer money. No matter what my ideals may be, ideals don't feed a hungry stomach. So my side was chosen."

Wolftooth grinned wolfishly, and his teeth gleamed with the white light which had started replacing the red of the sun.

"Here in Helmlet, I'm the undefeated man, ya see. Not once have me or my company suffered defeat."

And then he grew grim again.

"But the rumors worry me. They say there be a line of mages in the Duke's place, ready to blast us to smithereens. Knowin' the bastard, he's holdin' them back just to let us advance and crush us all at the last moment. He's one sick fuck."

Now Wolftooth looked at Sigurd with a blazing intensity upon his eyes.

"That's where ya come in, an' that's why I asked ya to stay and be with us. See, if we attack those mages like we be now, we'll get butchered like damn pigs. But if he were to keep them bastards in check, we'll take Helmlet! An' fer me, the only real thing left to do would be to challenge the man who my father never seemed to win against. I'll find that man. He's called Helm. He named the whole damn land after him, ya see. And it stuck. Well, whatever…"

Wolftooth now bowed his head before Sigurd, surprising him.

"Every man's gotta dream. I got one. Please, don't let my men die like pigs. Help me outta this. Please let me live this war so I can challenge this man."

Sigurd was rather taken aback by the developments. He had never expected to be confronted so honestly, nor did he expect someone to beg something of him so earnestly. He was right, this young Wolftooth in front of him was a fine man. A good leader.

 _Acknowledgement._

 _'So you agree too, my friend? It looks like our journey has truly begun.'_

Sigurd smiled and looked at the boy in front of him. He had made his choice a little earlier, and now he would commit to it. He was, after all, a hero - he would always live like one. He would fulfill this wish requested of him. He wanted to.

"Very well. I shall look to your survival against these 'mages'."

Wolftooth looked at him with gratitude and grinned. Sigurd nodded, then turned away and mentally urged Grani to come to him.

"I will be back soon. I wish to look around this world a bit more. Sorry if that causes you any inconvenience. I really did intend to travel."

Wolftooth nodded in understanding. A being from the Far Side who came to the Near Side voluntarily would of course like to explore a bit. And he did not look like a man who would break his promises and run away. Truthfully, Wolftooth was lucky that this powerful being had agreed to listen to his selfish wishes.

"I will be waiting at the camp."

Grani arrived, Wolftooth turned back. He crossed the mighty beast and was awed. What a regal creature!

Grani likewise looked at the human and snorted. He was a simple creature with a good heart.

Sigurd stepped forward into the night as fog began to swirl all around. This world was some other world, he was sure of it. The immensely bright moon, the purity of the mana - everything pointed to it. But whatever world he may be in, he was still the same and his dreams the same too. Everyone has a dream. Wolftooth has his. His men have their own. Sigurd and Grani had theirs too, and for Sigurd and Grani, it was worth living and striving for.

Sigurd felt Grani stop beside him. Both of them were silent. They looked at the world as one amidst the silence. Words could have immense power, but the absence of it was something powerful too.

Sigurd leapt upon Grani's back, and the great steed reared back neighing powerfully. With a powerful leap, beast and man together once more thundered towards the sky.

The great moon seemed close enough to be touched by an outstretched arm. The world itself was starting to hide from this celestial body by spinning silken webs thick enough to obscure the land. The world was whitewashed - white above in a black sky full of twinkling white stars, appearing and vanishing as whimsically as the gods, and the white below of an ever shifting, ever thickening silken web of fog. Silhouetted against the great white moon for a fleeting moment were the forms of a great man and steed. Together they thundered across the sky like some phantom from long forgotten times, and the ground below shifted and changed, but never once dropped the veil of fog.

Together the great hero and beast took their first step as legends once more - and in such a manner their first day of return galloped away.

* * *

 **A.N. - And the third chapter is done. As you might have noticed, this is not the usual Siegfried that we are all used to, but a different iteration of the same or at least a similar legend, Sigurd. More to be revealed later. Hope you like the characterisation that I have in mind.**

 **Now, I'm quite sorry for taking so long for an update, but updates will be quite sparse for now, because I have things to take care of IRL. Thank you all for your patience, and hope you can keep it for longer...at least till I have everything sorted out by the end of the first half of December. Thank you all, and see you in the next update.**


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